This is a coffin ship, Harrigan, an' Henshaw he's the undertaker.

He don't bring 'em to Davy Jones's locker--he does worse--he brings 'em to hell on earth, a hell so bad that when they go below, they don't notice no difference.

Harrigan, me an' a few of the rest, we know what's been done, an' some of us have thought wouldn't it be a sort of joke, maybe, if sometime what Henshaw has done to others was done to himself, what ?" The sweat was standing out on Harrigan's face wet and cold.

It seemed to him that through the darkness he could make out whole troops of those broken men littering the decks.

He peered through the dark at the bos'n, and made out the hint of the gray-blue eyes watching him again as the cat watches the mousehole, and the heart of Harrigan ached.
"Hovey, are you bound for the loincloth an' the beaches, like the rest ?" "No, because I've sold my soul to White Henshaw; but you're bound there, Harrigan, because you can never sell your soul.